


Emergency Repairs

by jailikechai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, auto shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jailikechai/pseuds/jailikechai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel discovers that he doesn't know how to change a tire when he gets a flat on his way to work. He gets a hand from a handsome mechanic named Dean. Dean offers to help Castiel out with any other emergency repairs that might come up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Repairs

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what happened to me on my way to work this morning? I did not have as much luck with the very helpful repair person AAA sent out for me as Cas does with Dean.

The old car lurches uncomfortably to the right, and the battered steering wheel begins to shudder sickeningly under Castiel’s hands.

“No. Oh no. No, no,” Castiel repeats, gripping the wheel’s scuffed leather through its vibrations. He can hear something rattling from somewhere vaguely underneath the car, and a faint smell of burned rubber starts leaking in and causes him to wrinkle up his nose.

“What’s happening. What are you doing, car. Stop it,” Cas orders the vehicle pointlessly. The car keeps shuddering and rattling and Castiel directs it to limp sadly towards the side of the road.

Castiel climbs out of the car with a wary eye on the oncoming traffic speeding past. There is no question as to what’s wrong with the car once he looks at it: the right rear wheel sits on the pavement, the rubber of its tire shredded almost completely off.

“Shit.” Castiel grimaces. “Fuck.” He looks around wildly for help, but he’s still on the main street, and cars show no sign of stopping. He scrambles in his pocket for his phone.

“Gabriel,” Castiel gasps as soon as the call connects, without waiting for his brother to answer. “Gabriel, one of the tires on my car is gone. What do I do?”

A muffled groan filters through the phone, and Castiel glares at it as if he could somehow translate his expression of disapproval to the other end of the line.

“Cassie?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel hisses again, climbing back into the car and huddling in the driver’s seat, clutching the phone to his ear. “Wake up. Help me.”

“‘M awake. What’s the bug up your butt?”

“My car. I did something to my car. One of my tires is… gone.”

“You got a flat tire?” Gabriel asks, voice flat. Castiel scowls, hoping at least some of his irritation translates to his voice.

“It’s not _flat_ it’s _gone_. Well, there’s a few strips of rubber stuck to the wheel, but there’s no tire.”

“Wow, Cassie, when you fuck shit up you do not go halfway,” Gabriel says, his voice lightly amused.

“This is not funny. What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to call someone? How do I fix it?” Castiel takes a few deep breaths, doing his best to stay calm.

“Calm your tits, baby bro. It’s just a blown out tire. I’m gonna give you my AAA number, call them and they’ll get you fixed up, ok?” The sound of Gabriel yawning so loud his jaw cracks fills the phone, followed by faint rustling. “You ready?”

Castiel looks around the car quickly for something to write with. He comes up with a slightly used napkin from Taco Bell to serve as paper (he needs to have a talk with Gabriel about using his car for late night food runs), but nothing resembling a pen or pencil.

“I don’t have anything to write with,” Castiel panics.

“Jesus, fine, I’ll just text you the number. It’s not a big deal,” Gabriel soothes him.

“I’m supposed to be at work right now,” Castiel wails.

“What, that shitty internship Dad got you? I thought you didn’t even want to do it?”

“It’s a very prestigious investment company, and working there will give weight to my resume when I graduate,” Castiel repeats the words their father impressed on him. Gabriel makes a strange gurgling noise that Castiel interprets as disapproval, or maybe disgust. Possibly both.

“Yeah, three frickin’ years from now. And don’t you want to do some sort of shit with animals, anyway? I don’t think dogs give a crap if you know about mutual funds,” Gabriel points out.

“That’s not - I promised Dad I would be there,” Castiel sighs. “And now I’m late. On my first day.”

“They can’t blame you for a flat tire, Castiel, it coulda happened to anyone. Now, take a deep breath, call AAA, call your crappy new boss, call me back, and you’ll be fine.”

Castiel followed his brother’s instructions by taking a big breath and letting it out through his nose with a huff.

“Feel better?” Gabriel’s tone is mocking, but without malice, and Castiel grumbles half-heartedly.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he says quietly, and receives another noisy yawn in acknowledgement before hanging up. His phone chimes with the text message containing the promised information a brief minute later. Castiel hastily dials the 800-number.

“Triple-A, this is Beverly speaking, how may I assist you today?”

“My car is… broken,” Castiel says lamely. There is a long, awkward pause.

“Could you be a little more specific about what the problem is, sir?”

Castiel winces.

“A flat tire. It has a flat tire.”

“Ok, I can get someone out to take care of that right away. I’ll just need your name and member number.”

Castiel provides the information and is asked to hold, please. He slumps down in his seat as broken, tinny piano covers of last decade’s pop hits drift over the phone. He watches another minute tick by on the clock; another minute late to his first day of his first job, if you can consider an unpaid internship for college credit a job. Zachariah only offered him the position as a favor to his Dad, and now he was blowing it. Literally. The hold music scratches off.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t confirm your membership at this time.”

“What? My brother gave me that number, he said you would help.”

“Your brother? I’m sorry, but he would have to be present for you to use his membership privileges. Your name is not listed on the account.”

“There’s no… family benefits?”

“I’m sorry, sir, no.”

If Castiel really could send his facial expressions over the phone lines, the woman at the other end would be cowering under her desk about now.

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m guessing you don’t know how to change a tire yourself,” the woman on the other end of the line says, a little pityingly.

“How’d you guess,” Castiel mutters under his breath.

“How about this. I can give you the number for one of our subcontractors, and you can call them directly.”

Castiel nods, then remembers that he is talking on the phone and the woman can’t see him.

“That would be very helpful, thank you,” he tells her, realizing at the same time that he still has nothing to write with. He starts repeating the number in his head as soon as she give it to him, and hurriedly starts punching the numbers into his phone as soon as he disconnects the call before he can forget.

“Yo.”

Castiel must have got the number wrong.

“Is this - uh - Singer Auto Repair?” he asks tentatively, just to be sure.

“You got it. What can I do you for?”

Castiel’s not sure whether to sigh with relief, blink with surprise, or shiver at the deep, smoky timbre of the voice he’s currently speaking to.

“I broke my car,” he blurts out, and immediately winces. “I mean, I have a flat tire and I need assistance to change it.”

The voice chuckles. Castiel decides it’s ok to shiver.

“I think I can help you out with that, no problem. You got a spare?”

“I - uh - what?” Castiel makes a mental note to sign up for some kind of basic auto repair class next semester. This is what he gets for religiously avoiding auto shop in high school.

“A spare tire,” the voice clarifies, sounding amused. “I need to know if have to bring one with me, or if you’ve already got one.”

“I… don’t know,” Castiel admits.

“Probably not, then. No problem. Tell me where you’re at, and I’ll be there in a jif.”

Castiel vaguely describes where he pulled over.

“You won’t miss me, I’m the only car on the side of the road with three tires.”

The voice outright laughs at that, and Castiel’s not sure why, since he was just being accurate. Castiel smiles in spite of himself as the voice pulls himself together.

“Heh. Right. ‘Kay, what’s your name?”

“Castiel Novak.”

“Cas… Novak…” the voice sounds like he is writing that down.

“No - Castiel,” he enunciates.

“Castiel. Ok. That’s a mouthful and I’m still gonna stick with Cas, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. No, I don’t mind.”

“Great. See you soon, Cas. Only car on the side of the road with three tires.”

Castiel stares at his darkened phone for what feels like a long time, breathing and trying to process all the thoughts and emotions swirling around in his head. He tries to only focus on what he needs to get done next: wait for the auto repair guy to show up and get a spare tire on his car. Just that one thing for now. He’ll deal with the rest as it comes up.

Whatever the rest of the things he’s supposed to be dealing with are, he forgets all of them completely when he sees the man that steps out of the big white pickup with “Singer Auto” painted across the doors. He can’t be much older than Castiel, broad shouldered and bow-legged, and, as Castiel discovers when he climbs out of the car to greet him, very tall.

“Cas, I assume?” the man grins. It’s a smile that lights up his whole face, right up to his impossibly green eyes. And… it’s the voice. Even deeper and darker and headier in person than over the phone.

After a pause, Castiel realizes he’s just standing there and staring silently. He coughs, and tries to subtly wipe the sweat off his palm before offering his hand to the man to shake.

“Yes, I’m… Cas,” he says with a nod, tripping over the unfamiliar nickname. The man grins at him again and pumps his hand with a firm, but gentle grip.

“I’m Dean. Let’s take a look at that tire, shall we?”

Castiel nods, attempting and failing to force his face into something resembling a smile. He must look constipated or something. Great. Constipated and so inept he can’t change a tire, what a first impression

Dean whistles when he rounds the car to look at the remains of what was formerly the right rear tire of Castiel’s old clunker.

“You really weren’t kidding about losing a tire, huh?”

“No, Dean, I was not kidding.” Castiel frowns a little, wondering why the man would think he would joke about such a thing. Dean quirks an eyebrow and stares at him for a beat, then shakes his head slowly and smiles.

Taking off the old tire and putting on the spare turns out to be a very quick and simple process. Dean explains each step as he goes through the actions while Castiel peers, fascinated, over his shoulder.

“You’re very talented at this,” Castiel observes, watching Dean’s face animate as he explains why you have to wait until the car is on the ground before you can tighten the lug nuts. Dean’s face jerks up to look at him with surprise.

“Fixing cars? Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, yes. But I was referring to teaching. You’re very articulate.”

Dean looks away and rubs the back of his neck.

“Nah. I’m just kinda used to explaining stuff like this. I taught my little brother everything he knows about cars, just like my dad taught me.”

“I assure you, it takes a great deal of skill to make any kind of sense out of an automobile to me.”

Dean laughs.

“Who’s the teacher now? I didn’t think people still talked in sentences like that,” Dean teases, nothing but awed amusement in his voice, and Castiel blushes.

“I’m not.”

Dean finishes tightening up the lug nuts, and stands up, leaning one hip up against the side of Castiel’s car.

“Ok, so not a teacher. What do you do then, Cas?”

Castiel awkwardly tries to copy Dean’s effortlessly casual pose and fails miserably.

“I’m just a student.”

“A student?” Dean sounds faintly disappointed.

“At the University.”

Dean grins.

“Oh. Good.”

Dean’s eyes rake over Castiel’s body, from the top of his messy brown hair to the bottom of his feet, clad in too-tight dress shoes for his first day of -

“Shit!”

Dean jumps away from the car, tensing up guiltily. Castiel holds up an appeasing hand.

“Oh, no, it’s not you, Dean. I forgot that I was supposed to be at work. I’m late.”

Dean relaxes a little, and starts picking up his tools to replace in his truck.

“Well, I won’t keep you, then.”

Castiel watches him, easing his disappointment at not being able to stay and talk to Dean longer with the realization that they’re standing on the side of a busy street, which is admittedly not a great place to casually chat. Dean wipes his hands off on his jeans and thrusts a business card out towards Castiel, who takes it.

“You’re gonna need to get that spare replaced with a real tire, so you should come by the shop and I’ll fix you up,” Dean explains, then he looks down and his face goes bright red, making the spatters of freckles across his nose stand out in sharp relief, “and, uh, that’s my cell number on the back. In case you need any, um, emergency repairs, or, you know. Anything.”

Castiel’s eyes snap to the card, where _Dean Winchester_ is scrawled in messy handwriting over a phone number on the back of the Singer Auto Repair card. When he looks up again, Dean is already climbing into his truck.

“Thank you!” Castiel calls, waving. Dean lifts a hand and smiles before pulling back out into the flow of traffic.

~~

“Where you been?” Bobby calls from his office when Dean pulls in with the truck.

“Out call. Flat tire.”

“Ah. Soccer mom?”

“College kid.” _Not_ a high school student, Dean thinks with relief. He doesn’t think he could handle it if those blue eyes and that sharp jawline were underage. Not that he really expects anything to come of it, but at least he can fantasize guilt-free.

Bobby waves a hand at the stack of work orders sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Well, work ain’t gonna do itself,” he orders gruffly, and Dean grins at him before picking up the paper at the top of the stack.

It’s about two hours later and Dean has his hands inside a minivan that a soccer mom somehow royally fucked up when he hears the cringe-worthy wheezing of a worn out engine pull up in front of the shop. He hears the car door open, and close, and footsteps walking into Bobby’s office. Then he hears a gratingly deep, gravelly voice that sounds mildly irritated and vaguely puzzled. He _knows_ that voice.

Dean almost brains himself on the hood of the minivan when he jerks upright. He bolts into the office, wiping oil off his hands on a dirty rag as he goes.

“Cas!” He stares at the man standing in front of his boss, still wearing that same dark suit that doesn’t quite fit his slim frame, his hair still the victim of an attack by nesting birds, his eyes still the bluest blue that Dean has ever seen.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Dean, just as it was this morning.

“Hey, Cassanova, tell me you didn’t just leave your work in progress opened up in the garage when you ran in here,” Bobby cuts in, narrowing his eyes at Dean, who puts on his best wide-eyed look of innocence.

“Nope,” he lies with a charming grin. Bobby rolls his eyes.

“Get back out there and finish her up proper, then you can come in here and chat up your new… friend.”

“Can I… come with you?” Castiel asks shyly, and both Dean and Bobby whip around to stare at him. Castiel flushes endearingly under their gazes. “I - I just - I’m having rather a very bad day, and Dean was so mellifluent when describing his work this morning, I found it quite interesting, so I…” he trails off when they continue to just stare at him in silence.

Bobby looks at Dean and just mouths mellifluent. Dean grins and shrugs.

“I don’t mind,” Dean says, casting a hopeful glance at Bobby.

“Fine,” Bobby growls. “But finish all your work orders same as usual, and don’t let Mr. Can’t-change-his-own-tire here mess with anything.”

Castiel blushes red again, but Dean grins, and tugs his sleeve to guide him towards the shop.

“So what’re you doing here so soon?” Dean asks as he returns to the minivan, and Castiel starts to peel off his suit jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves. “Thought you had work.”

Castiel lets out a pained sigh.

“It was my first day. I was over an hour late. They fired me.” His voice was flat and bitter. Dean winces.

“Ouch. Sorry.”

“It was not your fault,” Castiel says, in that puzzled little way that means he totally missed that Dean was being sympathetic and not apologetic. Dean tries not to chuckle. “It was just an unpaid internship, anyways. It’s just that my dad really wanted me to, so when they let me go I couldn’t -”

Castiel trails off. Dean nods.

“Couldn’t go home. I get it.” And he does.

Dean finishes up the minivan, and takes Castiel to lunch at the little sandwich shop around the corner that makes turkey subs that could be catered in heaven, and bakes fresh pies on Tuesdays. They talk and laugh, well, Dean laughs and Castiel does this little half-smile-eye-crinkle-sniff thing that is indescribably adorable. Dean learns about Castiel’s assortment of brothers, and Dean brags about Sam. They go back to the shop and Dean teaches Castiel how to do a simple oil change. From the look on Castiel’s face, Dean could be telling him the secrets of the universe.

Bobby gives them permission to stay at the shop after he closes up so Dean can change Castiel’s tire.

“It’s just like putting on the spare, Cas, do you remember what you have to do?” Dean asks, hauling the new tire towards Castiel’s sorry excuse for a vehicle.

“You start by loosening the lug nuts,” Castiel recalls, concentration creasing his forehead. Dean can’t help but smile at him. He makes Castiel talk him through the process and when the tire is secure, Dean turns to him with a proud smile.

“There. Now you know how to change a tire.”

“I - I suppose I do,” Castiel says, his eyes going wide. Dean thinks he’s going to drown in blue.

“Next time you won’t even need to call me,” he jokes.

Castiel’s expression twists.

“Oh. Yes, I suppose. But I can, perhaps, still… call you?” Castiel stares at Dean. “Like you said, for emergency repairs?”

Dean tries to convince his heart that, yes, it still needs to beat.

“Sure. Emergency repairs.”

Castiel nods and moves towards the car door. Dean pulls the door open and bows him in chivalrously. Castiel blinks his big blue eyes up at Dean and runs a hand through the disaster on top of his head.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says in his rough voice.

“No problem.”

Castiel pulls his car away from the garage. Dean watches the tail lights disappear down the road. When the lights are no longer visible, Dean shakes himself and goes to wash up and close down the rest of the shop. Dean is heading towards his own car when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He frowns at the unfamiliar number.

“Yo.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean almost drops his keys.

“Cas?”

“Yes. I think - Dean, I think I may be in need of some emergency repairs.”

Dean goes cold with the thought that Castiel crashed his car somewhere, since the car was running fine when Dean looked it over less than half an hour ago.

“Shit. Ok, where are you?”

“Um. If you just drive down the street you’ll see me. I’m the only car on the side of the road.”

So not a crash, then. Dean fumbles to open the door of his beloved ‘67 Chevy and slides behind the wheel.

“Only car on the side of the road, huh?”

“But I have all four tires this time.”

Dean laughs, his shoulders shaking with it.

“Was that a joke, Cas?”

Castiel says nothing, but Dean can picture his expression of embarrassed pleasure perfectly in his mind.

“Hang on, I’m on my way,” Dean assures him.

He only has to drive about two miles straight down the road before he sees Castiel’s car pulled off on the wide shoulder. Cas didn’t make if very far.

Castiel climbs out of the car and meets Dean halfway between his peeling, vaguely beige vehicle and Dean’s sleek, black baby.

“What’s the problem, Cas?”  Dean asks, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Cas’s without a second glance at the car.

“I think you may have forgotten something before I left the shop,” Castiel explains, stepping even closer, until Dean can actually feel the heat radiating off his body.

“What’s that?” Dean lifts an eyebrow and looks down at Cas, just inches away now.

Castiel stares at him solemnly. And then all of a sudden Cas is no longer inches away, he is pressed right up against Dean, his lips pressed against Dean’s lips, his breath mingling with Dean’s breath, his hands sliding up Dean’s chest to rest on his shoulders.

“Oh, _that_ ,” Dean gasps when Castiel breaks away for breath. Dean winds his arms around Castiel’s waist and pulls him in tighter. “Yeah, good thing you called me, that’s definitely an emergency we need to fix.”

“I thought so,” Castiel agrees, and leans in for another kiss.

 


End file.
